“Well,” Falcontent admitted, “I’m resting.”
“Ah! Jus’ so! I understan’. Overwork—doubtless? A Wall Street panic? Hum! Doubtless so.”
“No,” Falcontent sighed; “nothing like that.”
Wisdom and experience enlightened the little man. He precisely comprehended.
“Oh, my dear sir!” he exclaimed.
“My little boy died,” said Falcontent. “It knocked me out.... Have a drink?”
The dragoman lifted a delicate, brown hand. “I am mere child in such matters, as it were,” said he. He was much like a boy jocularly invited to partake in something preposterously beyond his years.
“You won’t mind,” Falcontent began, “if I——”
Again a lift of the brown hand and a polite little bow. “I shall have the ver’ great honor,” said the dragoman, renewing the politeness of the bow, “to observe consumption of brandy-an’-soda with keen sympathy an’ relish.”
Falcontent almost laughed. “Where did you learn your English, old man?” he asked interested.